


Boys' Night

by AceofSpeight



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Aliens, Butter, Crack, Established Relationship, I Don't Even Know, Literal Crack, M/M, Pizza, Porn, alfred gets sick and everything goes to shit, batfamily
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-07
Updated: 2017-01-07
Packaged: 2018-09-15 10:30:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9230909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceofSpeight/pseuds/AceofSpeight
Summary: Three babysitters should be enough for one Damian Wayne, right? Spoiler: It’s not.Or: That time Bruce goes out for a date, Dick loses Damian, Tim has trouble with the pizza, and Jason just ruins everything.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Porn. Arcades. Pizza. Aliens.
> 
> It’d be a great night for me, anyway. ;)
> 
> This is entirely unedited by anyone other than myself, and as I’m quite new to this fandom, earnest criticism is more beloved to me than Bruce is to Talia. Just without the murderous passion.
> 
> Also, [here's](https://open.spotify.com/user/1268215867/playlist/3sYwg8JGesEi25xTXeEND6) the Spotify playlist that goes with this adventurous romp.

Because Dick had been a Good Child, he didn’t really understand how to handle a Bad Child. He understood as a concept that not all children were easy to handle, but then again, when he was constantly saving them and having them rush into his arms full of gratitude and need, he’d never per se, _experienced_ dealing with even the worst ones’ bad attitude.

He had just grabbed a beer from the fridge and was expecting an easy night of extra gory TV—hey, he was the _cool_ older brother, these things were expected of him, and besides, it’s not like Baby Bat hadn’t done worse himself—when he closed the fridge door and was met with a small, yet righteously furious child, glaring pits into his skull.

Honestly, he thought as he unscrewed the cap from the bottle, even Ra’s must’ve had some concern if that look were directed at him.

He leaned against the counter with his hip, crossing his arms and taking a short swig of the beer, staring down at his fourth (fifth?) Robin replica.

“Problem, Baby Bat?” Dick asked, smirk on his face sliding higher when Damian positively glowered at the nickname.

“What are you _doing_?” he asked, full of sanctimonious disapproval. “It’s night, and in case you didn’t know this, which you probably didn’t, that’s usually when the _bad guys_ come out and rob and kill and _maim_ innocent people.”

Dick hummed in thought and took another drink from the beer, crossing his ankles and nodding to the furious child.

“True, but tonight we get a break,” he placed the sweating bottle on the island counter and leaned forward conspiratorially to Damian, smiling playfully and, on any normal night, winningly. “Bruce is out on a date, Alfred is sick with the flu, and even guys like us deserve a Sabbath. So, what do you say, slasher films and popcorn?”

Whatever Dick had been expecting—a cheer, a bright welcome smile, hell even a roll of the eyes and a shrug—he didn’t get it.

Just as he was about to take another drink Damian snatched the bottle from him and threw it into the sink with a frightful velocity. Carbonated liquid sloshed three feet into the air and flew against the kitchen backsplash. Alfred really wouldn’t be happy about that.

“I mean, it doesn’t have to be slasher films,” Dick said, watching the beer slide down the window and pool onto the granite counter. “I can do a rom-com.”

“You’re missing the point you idiot!” Damian shouted, legs in a fighting horse stance and arms spread wide in dramatic fury. “We should be out patrolling! We need to keep the streets of Gotham safe! Thieves and murderers don’t have sabbath!”

“You don’t know that,” Dick muttered unhappily, putting his chin in his hand and watching Damian rage around him with a sullen sense of foreboding. He clearly was not cut out of this line of work.

Lucky for him, he lived in the modern era. He had a phone. With names, numbers, and oh yes, favors to call in.

Damian flew over the couch and unsheathed his sword—wherever the hell he’d been hiding that, Dick wasn’t even slightly curious—and began to tear the room apart.

Dick tapped in the digits he needed and put the phone to his ear, swaying his hips back and forth as the number began to ring. He stopped when he not only heard, but felt, the 14th century Ming vase crash to the floor. If acerbic impetuousness had a sound, that’s what it sounded like.

“Hmm?” came an unsuspecting voice from Dick’s phone, and Dick had to smile. There’s no way Red Robin would refuse his oldest sibling and Dick was betting tonight wouldn’t be so difficult after all.

“Timmy, hey,” he said, as nonchalant as one could be when Damian began to carve into the master grand piano. “You free tonight? Boys night in, Damian and me ’re gonna watch some films, maybe video game it up, you in?”

Tim made a small noncommittal noise, clearly distracted if the keyboard of a laptop clacking was any indication. “I don’t know, I got a couple exams coming up Dick, I really should—“

“Tim,” Dick dragged out, leaning back against the counter and turning to see the design of dried beer on the kitchen window. Looked Matisse-esque. “I haven’t seen you in ages, and with how long exam season is, don’t you think you deserve a little break? Come on down, it’ll be—“ Behind him he heard a smash and a very loud and foreboding piano chord sound, “—a riot.”

“Is that the TV?” Tim asked cautiously, and Dick laughed a little too loud, trying to clear out the noise with false cheer.

“Yeah, yeah, definitely, we’re getting into some Hitchcock stuff,” he said and verbally pummeled on. “So anyway, come on over now okay? See you in twenty, love you bro!”

“Dick wait I haven’t—“ Dick clicked the off button and looked around the chaos before him. Damian was currently making his way down the hallway, and if Dick wasn’t mistaken, then he just heard all of the Faberge eggs being hurtled into the wall.

Dick grabbed another beer and sat on the destroyed couch, tufts of stuffing pouring out from between fabric that probably cost more than Dick’s apartment’s worth 

He hoped Tim didn’t take too long.

 

—————

 

Tim brought his VW Golf to the front of the house, parking it as close as possible but not bothering to lock it. Anyone who could make it this far into the Wayne mansion probably deserved to have it.

He shivered under the light rain and made his way up to the front of the mansion to ring the doorbell. He’d half expected Alfred to open the door, having expected his arrival, but the butler was nowhere to be found.

And after about three minutes, still no one had bothered to come fetch him. He rang the doorbell again, but halfway through gave a short noise, probably best categorized as a “fuck it” sound, if Tim were one for profanity. He grabbed the handle and pushed, and to his luck—or so he naively thought—it opened without protest.

Two steps in and Tim wondered if he’d walked into an alternate dimension.

The entry was a colossal waste, glass and porcelain shattered on every conceivable part of the ground and there was wood coming out of the walls. Tim’s heart dropped and he ran through the manor, rolling and keeping his body tucked in tightly, waiting for an attack to come.

What had happened during the 15 minutes it’d taken to arrive? had Dick been under duress when he’d called him? He’d sounded find enough, maybe a little tightness in his throat which Tim had attributed to being around Damian, because, well, _Damian_ , but he’d miscalculated, Dick was in trouble, Damian was in trouble, and now Tim had to— 

“You irresponsible fool!”

Tim froze in the doorway, eyes wide and mouth gaping when he came across his two brothers.

Dick had donned the middle aged armor from the knight that had previously sat outside Bruce’s study. He was using two pot lids as shields while Damian Wayne, Scrappy Doo of the Wayne Family Tree, hurtled small objects at him. Forks, butter knives, and—were those corn on the cob holders?

“Tim!” Dick muffled through the helmet, lifting is head and getting a fork to the head for it. Dick rubbed his metal head and seemingly glared at the youngest boy in the room, then turned back to Tim, who ducked when Damian’s wrath was channeled to the Velma of the Bat Family Tree.

“Damian, chill, dude,” Dick said with a shake of his head. “Timmy!” he threw open his arms and clenched around Tim. Tim wondered if this was what going into shock felt like.

He wheezed loudly when Dick finally let him go. Dick opened the visor and grinned at his second youngest brother-in-arms.

“Glad you could make it,” he said, grinning as though he had no concern about the fact that Damian was now crawling up the wall and trying to scurry across the ceiling like some kind of alien squirrel.

“Yeah, uh, wouldn’t miss it,” Tim said, quietly watching Damian as he made a beeline for Dick and himself.

“So what do you think, Call of Duty first? Or maybe—“ At that moment Damian leapt from the ceiling and Tim rolled out of the way. He needn’t have worried for himself however since Dick was the angry child’s target. Dick punched the small body repeatedly, and kept talking like it was nothing. “Maybe a movie? Say why don’t we order a pizza—“

“On it,” Tim said, backing out of the room. “I can pick it up.” 

“Great! How about artichoke hearts and pineapple?”

“Fruit on pizza is a disgrace!” Damian shouted and twisted his legs around Dick’s neck, squeezing the air out of his throat.

“No fruit, got it, I’ll be back soon, don’t worry about it,” Tim jumped back when Dick came crashing to the floor. He walked with a controlled speed and tried to ignore the sounds of choking and gargling. Dick could take care of himself against a ten year old for another 30 minutes, surely.

Tim kicked up his speed a little bit.

He rounded the corner and threw open the front door, ready to spring into the torrent of rain when—

“Drake!” Tim froze, shoulder hunched to his ears and he slowly turned. Damian stood in the shadows, only his legs highlighted from the light that came from the outside landscaping lights. Tim could see him mop his brow—god he hoped that was sweat and not blood—and he wiped his sword on his pants’ leg. “Green peppers,” he said ominously, and Tim could swear he saw his eyes shine, not unlike a hyena observing its prey.

“Sure Damian, green peppers,” Tim said and ran out the door. He fumbled with his car keys—honestly, he could take down Killer Croc without a tremble but this little freak and he was like an elephant learning to paint—and finally plunged them into the car.

He jumped into the car and as he sped away heard, “If you get red peppers I’ll kill you!’

Tim let out a long soothing breath and shook out his hair, droplets falling onto the dash. If 30 minutes turned into 45, could he really be blamed?

 

—————

 

Jason didn’t mind the rain when he was wearing his hood, but today he was just Jason, climbing up and over the walls of Wayne manor with ease—those anti-electrifying gloves and shoes really were worth the money—and not totally a fan of what the moisture was doing to his hair.

Not that he wanted to impress Dick or anything stupid like that, he grumbled under his breath as he jumped through the window and into Dick’s old room. Jason didn’t give a shit about that, he told himself as he discarded his jacket and ran his hands through his hair. But hey, if his rain-soaked shirt happened to cling to his muscles and Dick were to notice…

Jason rolled his shoulders and looked around him, half expecting to see Nightwing checking him out. He scoffed when no one was there to be impressed, and he silently crossed the room to open the door. He kept to the shadows as he move about the house.

He’d tracked Dick to the mansion using the GPS tracker he’d stuck to Dick the night before to the manor, which was a bit unusual. He assumed that Dick was probably manning operations from the Bat Cave while Bat-Ass and Bat-Brat went out on mission, but caution was something Jason never skimped on.

He was efficiently making his way to Bruce’s study to bring himself into the Bat Cave when he came across one of the many living rooms in the mansion. Unlike most of the other rooms, which were silent and dark, this one seemed to be teeming with action.

In fact, if he guessed right, he was definitely looking at Dick admiring the heartfelt image of an upside down Damian. His feet hung from the ceiling, much like a, _you know_ , and was squirming and yelling through a gag of duct tape. His arms and legs were bound together with the curtains that had once donned the room, and Dick sighed happily as he appreciated his own handiwork.

Jason took a few steps forward and leaned agains the doorframe, folding his arms and frowning as the youngest Robin swing from side to see, trying and failing to detach himself from his predicament.

“You plan on recording this or should I?” Jason asked drolly and Dick’s attention jumped from the flailing child to the man across the room.

“Jay, you shouldn’t be here,” he said without any heat.

“Throw me out then,” he invited and Dick just shook his head and seated himself on he ground, lying down in exhaustion.

Jason took a step forward and grabbed his phone from his back pocket. He snapped a photo of Bruce’s spawn tied up in all his glory, and then made his way closer, getting as close as he dared. He stopped about six inches from Damian’s face and grinned. Damian screamed from under the duct tape and Jason smirked. 

He made his way around and stood over Dick, whose eyes were closed and seemed completely unconcerned with the fact he had a vigilante crime boss within smothering distance.

But then, he never seemed to mind Jason hovering over him anyway, especially when both parties were nude.

Jason unsheathed a small piece of cloth from his back pocket and held it in his hand. He turned his hand over and dropped it down on Dick’s face.

Dick startled and sat up, taking the cloth in hand and looking at it skeptically. When he realized what it was, a pretty pink blush scurried over his face and he scowled at Jason.

“You came all the way here to bring me back my underwear?”

Jason gave him a feral grin and shrugged his shoulders lightly. “It’s a cold night, didn’t want you going commando.”

“You’re _cavorting_ with Red Hood?” Damian shouted from the ceiling. At some point he’d used his spit to loosen his gag and had freed his mouth. Oh joy, Jason thought as he rolled his eyes. Another judgmental commentator.

“I mean, nothing actually _happened_ ,” Dick said emphatically.

“Having three fingers up my ass isn’t nothing, Dick,” Jason supplied and heard a gag at his back.

“I never wanted to hear that,” Damian growled.

“You and me both, kid.”

“Okay, okay,” Dick said, hands out in surrender. “Since you’re here you can help me out then, Jay. I’m gonna go to the kitchen and make some popcorn—you two hang, get to know each other, yeah? I’ll be back.”

“Your puns are unwanted Grayson,” Damian snarled as he fiddled with the restraints on his legs, now halfway to freedom. 

He turned before either could object, but halted as he seemed to relay one last warning.

“And Damian,” he sang lightly. “No bat bombs while I’m gone. I know you like to hide them under the couch cushions.” He smiled and waved his fingers, exiting the room.

Jason stared at the couch cushions warily. Sitting made him lazy anyway.

Damian dropped from the ceiling and looked Jason over once, then twice. Jason narrowed his eyes and didn’t give the brat the courtesy of treating him like a threat. But then, if he made sure not to turn his back to him, he couldn’t be faulted.

Dick better not take too long with that popcorn, he thought as Damian circled him slowly. Otherwise there would be one more dead Robin within an hour.

 

————

 

Tim entered the pizza shop, bell jingling above his head cheerily even as the dull yellow light in the place cast an eery light around the empty room.

A young girl sat behind the counter, using one of her sharp nails to clean out the others, and didn’t bother looking up when Tim approached her.

“Um, a large pizza please, half artichoke and pineapple, half green peppers.” Tim paused for a moment and recalculated. “On second thought, make those two separate medium pizzas.”

“$30.26. It’ll be a 30-minute wait.”

Tim looked around at the empty shop and raised an eyebrow as he paid her with cash. Normally he might contest having to wait so long, but thinking about the little monster rampaging in the halls of Wayne Manor, and he suddenly decided these pizzas were definitely good enough to be worth the wait.

Besides, he reasoned, Damian probably wouldn’t accept Dominos quality anyway. 

He brought out his phone once he sat down. He kept all of his exam notes in Google docs and they were easily accessible on his phone. He tapped his fingers across the screen and settled back into his chair, ready for a relaxing hour of studying.

He’d just finished chemistry and was beginning his general coursework when the girl popped out with two pizzas. She flopped them onto the counter and nodded in his direction.

Tim rose and opened the pizza boxes. To his disappointment, the girl had mixed up his order. Instead of one artichoke heart and pineapple pizza and one with green peppers, he was looking at one with artichoke hearts and a one pineapple and green pepper pizza.

“Um,” he said quietly, “I’m sorry but this is a mistake. The pineapple needed to be with the artichoke hearts.”

“So pick ‘em off,” she suggested, not very politely. 

Tim smiled apologetically, “I’m sorry but my brother is allergic to pineapple. His needs to be green peppers only.”

The girl stared at him, shrugging without sympathy. The silence felt deafening, and Tim finally cleared his throat.

“I can…pay for another pizza.”

“$16.18,” she said drolly and Tim held back an annoyed sigh as he pulled out his wallet again and paid for a third pizza.

“Just green peppers please,” he said, and the girl rolled her eyes.

“Sure. it’ll be 40 minutes,”

“For one pizza? But it was 30 minutes for two—“

“I don’t make ‘em sparky I just handle the orders.”

Not very well, Tim bit back, taking the pizzas back to his table and hunkering down in his seat for the second time. He sent a quick text to Dick to tell him he’d be awhile. When didn’t get any response, he prayed it wasn’t because Damian had killed him _too_ violently.

 

—————

 

Dick rubbed the back of his neck and groaned dramatically, checking the clock and wondering what the hell was taking Tim so long with a damn pizza. He would’ve called to ask about the hold up, but Damian had sliced his phone in half with a bat-a-rang and was thus out of commission forever, may it rest in peace.

For a moment he wondered if maybe Tim had just outright ditched him, but then discarded the thought. That was a Jason thing to do, not a Tim thing. Tim worshipped Dick, Jason fucked with Dick.

Dick bit his lip as he omitted a word from that sentence, and thought about the night before.

Poker night had turned into strip poker, and strip poker had turned into a long drawn out orgasm that Dick hadn’t experienced in, well, a really long time. Long enough that it becoming a regular thing enticed him more than it really ought.

Really, Jason was like a little brother to him. Kind of. Well, an undead super hot little brother whom he didn’t actually think of at all as a little brother and more like something he wanted waiting in his bed every night.

Okay, so he was _supposed_ to be like a little brother to him, but really that title fell to Tim. Damian was more like the feral cat he was required to watch over, because Bruce never could say no to a hot chick. Even if she was a calculating assassin who had asked for his sperm in exchange for some drugged up sex…

Suddenly Dick didn’t feel like his situation was the weirdest in their family.

He snatched the air popper and set it on the counter, following it up with the corn kernels in the top left cupboard. He poured in well over what would be enough for three young men and rummaged through the fridge in hopes of finding some butter.

Bruce hardly allowed the stuff of course, wanting to maintain peak physical condition in order to quell the scum of Gotham without fear of clogged arteries. But Alfred was an Englishman, and an Englishman without buttered toast was no Englishman at all.

Dick made a noise of triumph when he found it behind the baking soda. He turned to the popcorn which had started to burst from their cocoons and jolted when he realized he’d forgotten the bowl. 

As he leapt toward the dishware, Dick thought about Jason entering the door, his black shirt practically taped to his body from the rain. Dick licked his lips while he fetched a bowl and stuck it under the air popper, thinking about peeling it off while running his tongue up his spine slowly.

He didn’t know how much experience Jason had gotten during the time of his unexpected rising from the grave to present day, but it was enough to surprise Dick with his skill.

It almost made Dick jealous, thinking about how Jason must’ve fucked at least a few guys before himself—did he do that thing with his teeth with all of them?

Dick groaned again for an entirely different reason and willed his twitching cock to think about something else.

He grabbed himself through his pants and sincerely hoped a certain someone wouldn’t come barging into the kitchen and find him in this state. He wouldn’t mind Jason popping in though, bending down, falling to his knees, taking Dick into his mouth—

Dick whined and pressed his palm to his jeans and bit his lip.

God it was so hot, he thought, keeping his increasingly speedier gasps at a low volume. Jason was the opposite of Dick—he was rough where Dick was playful, angry where Dick was casual, but most of all, he was intense and hard and damn, Dick liked it.

Sure their philosophical differences could never be bridged, but who cared about moral accountability when there was a tongue in your ass.

Dick continued rubbing himself, but nearly laughed when a thought occurred to him. While he and Tim seemed to be birds of a feather, Jason wasn’t so different from Damian.

Both were loud and angry and not discouraged from their own violent nature. Funny, think about what could happen if the two were to realize that. What if Damian had a conversation and debate with Jason as the Red Hood, talking about how violence could be used to curb evil, taste of their own medicine kind of thing.

Wow, that could be bad, he chuckled. Two violent vigilantes to worry about, wow imagine how pissed Bruce would be if he found out Jason had come over and was—

Currently in a room alone with Damian.

Dick’s eyes jerked open with his hand frozen over his, _well_.

He was so dead.

The popcorn flew all over the counter but it was forgotten as Dick rushed out of the kitchen and ran toward a natural disaster waiting to happen.

 

—————

 

Damian narrowed his eyes as Red Hood scratched the scruff on his throat, who appeared bored and looking at everything except Damian.

Damian wasn’t stupid. He knew Hood would watch every movement out of the corner of his eye. He probably had some kind of contingency plan for when Damian inevitably tried to escape.

He would be underestimated, he knew. Jason Todd, alias Red Hood, had far too much anger to ever pose as a real threat to Damian, Bruce Wayne’s legitimate son. He held back the grin that so desperately wanted to break free, to show Hood just exactly how much he knew.

Did he lie awake at night, cursing his father’s name and legend? Did he hate Damian too, for being part of that?

Not that Damian _really_ cared, but even he would admit he had a curiosity for such things.

Hood yawned without bothering to cover his mouth, instead keeping them where they lay on the top of the couch he sat in. Damian, meanwhile, kept his hands folded in his lap, one ankle on the knee of the other.

In about three minutes Damian would make his move, but in the meantime, he kept his sharp gaze on Hood, just to make sure he wouldn’t try anything before him.

He needn’t have worried. Grayson flew into the room, panting as though the short quarter mile from the room to the kitchen had somehow winded him. Damian barely held back from tutting disapprovingly. If that was the shape Grayson kept himself in it was no wonder Bludhaven was overrun by criminals.

Grayson muttered under his breath, a mumbled, “Oh thank god,” before smiling his fake Golden Boy smile and putting a hand on Hood’s shoulder.

“Glad to see you two getting along,” he said, and Damian really could have gagged. Why Grayson was always so amiable was beyond him. “Talk much?”

The silence that answered his question somehow made Grayson relax in sincerity.

“Right, great, that’s just great, so uh, Jason, Jaybird, bud, can you help me with the popcorn? Made a little extra and I could use the hand.”

Hood’s eyebrow quirked up and his eyes rolled to the side and up, appraising Dick without moving his head. Grayson squeezed his shoulder and Damian really didn’t hold his gag back this time. 

Both men gave him a queer look but ignored him. Hood stood without saying a word. He did look at Damian then, boring his eyes into Damian’s spiteful green ones, and Damian put on his best display of authority. It was his house after all, his legacy this would become.

Hood scoffed and walked around the couch, showing Damian his back for the first time that evening. Damian furrowed his eyebrows, insulted at the insinuation that Damian wasn’t threatening enough to keep his guard up.

He would regret that.

Hood left the room and Grayson gave him a mock salute and held his hand to the doorframe, “Back in a jiffy, Baby Bat, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” and with a wink, he was gone.

Finally, Damian grinned.

Damian didn’t even bother waiting for their boots to retreat entirely down the hallway before he stood and made his way over to the window. They were locked and secured by Bruce’s own security system, so naturally, it was a snap disarming the system and opening the lock.

He lifted the sill and and put his leg through one leg at a time. He jumped to the ground and rolled with momentum, then shot out into the night. He reached the squat bush in the upper west quadrant of the lawn and grabbed his Robin costume and gear. He always kept a bag in each quadrant just for this purpose.

He scaled the wall and was pleased to see Hood had deactivated the alarm, enabling him to get out quickly and easily.

Now his night could finally begin. Criminals watch your back, he thought as he flew from the wall, cape catching the wind and allowing him to land with a grace beyond his years. Robin was on patrol.

 

—————

 

Tim had long since given up trying to study. The florescent light gave him a headache and the small text on his phone was too small to make much sense to him anyway.

Instead, he observed the girl behind the counter, convinced she had some kind of beef with him, as it was currently 45 minutes past the time he’d made his second order and he had yet to receive the pizza he needed in earnest anyway. If a one-topping cheese pizza took this long, he wondered how long a none pizza with left beef might take.

He tapped his fingers on the counter and watched the way she hardly moved. Except for her thumbs, which moved with phenomenal speed across her phone. Tim frowned, was that 25 minutes she had been typing continuously? He briefly wondered if maybe she was writing a term paper on how best to torture millennial customers by forcing them to wait in an age of instantaneous gratification.

Tim pursed his lip in thought, nodding to himself. That actually would make a good topic for discussion in his Self-Aware Culture of 21st Century America class.

A clang sounded from the back, and the girl did nothing but move her eyes from the screen to stare ahead of her, a look of disdain still across her—admittedly pretty—features. She made the world’s softest growl and left her stool, making her way to the back steadily. Tim watched the door swing behind her and silence once again permeated the space.

After a few somewhat necessary spiteful thoughts, she returned with a pizza in her hand and…a smile on her face.

“So sorry for the wait, sir!” she said as perky as a blonde at Harvard. “Here’s your pizza, I hope you enjoy. Come back soon!”

She handed him the box with an absolutely dizzying smile. Tim looked at her skeptically and opened the box cautiously, ensuring she hadn’t actually done anything _extra_ to the pizza while she was in the back.

Sure enough, a piping hot pizza with green peppers stared back at him, spit-free. He drew his eyes up to the girl again, who was still smiling as though she’d just learned she had won the lottery.

Maybe she had. And maybe Tim was happy for her.

He put the new pizza on top of the now room-temperature ones from before and made his way to the door, giving one last look to the girl behind him. Sure enough there she was, smiling. In fact, it grew even bigger than it had before.

Tim walked out the door, bells singing behind him as it shut. He squinted in the face of the traffic before him, still thinking about the curiosity of what was the pizza shop girl. He opened his mouth, a silent question on his lips and he turned around suddenly, unsure of what happened had actually just happened.

He looked in through the glass door and he was surprised to see the girl _still_ smiling and now _waving_ at him.

What the—no. Whatever.

Tim was clearly projecting. He was clearly on some kind of studying-binge hangover, which affected his judgment when it came to interacting with people. Who knew what was going on, and Tim had a pizza to get to the manor of one very angry child and one very sloppy babysitter—he had his mission cut out for him.

And yet…

Tim walked past the window until he could no longer be seen. He made his way to the alley and dropped the pizzas into his car. He locked it again and kept a sharp eye around him, ensuring no one was around to see him do what he was gong to do next.

Coast clear, he thought, attaching his domino mask. He promptly jumped onto the lid of the dumpster and reached for the roof of the pizza building. He vaulted over it and landed onto the roof silently, crouching low to keep unnoticed. He kept his crouch and ran quickly to the back. He peeked over the edge, watching for any movement in the back of the shop. The back door was open and an alarming amount of steam billowed out, as if something quite large were boiling in the kitchen.

Not that Tim had ever worked in a pizza shop, but boiling anything in a pizza shop seemed strange. He double checked, narrowing his eyes, making sure it wasn’t in fact smoke from the ovens he was seeing.

Nope, white steam pillowing out in droves out the back door. A health hazard, if nothing else. Tim grabbed his grappling hook and placed it on the lip of the roof, wrapping the rope securely around his wrist and arm.

He certainly hoped this was as exciting as his night got, he thought as he lowered himself down the wall.

 

—————

 

Jason found a better use for the butter that Dick had been planning to put on the popcorn.

Currently the first Robin was beneath him, leaning over the counter, moaning and sounding hotter than Jason even remembered him sounding last night. “Jason—“ he panted. “Jason— _oh_ —more Jason, give me more.”

Jason simpered, obliging and sticking another finger into Dick’s ass. Wow it was a nice one, he admired from his position above, and wasn’t above giving it a little smack, much to Dick’s pleasure.

God this was way too easy, Jason thought as he moved his fingers in and out of Dick’s ass. He was being begged for and Jason hadn’t even gotten his cock in him yet.

He had never been so grateful that the kitchen was so far from the living room than at that moment. Not that he really cared if Bruce’s little monster heard them fucking, but it wasn’t something that he particularly wanted to broadcast, at least, not to little kids.

He was kinky but he wasn’t perverted, sheesh. 

He removed his fingers from Dick’s ass and Dick moaned deep and long, then he was whining for Jason, “Jason, please, god, give me your cock,” and oh _shit_ was Jason happy to give it to him.

He hadn’t realized how broad Dick’s sexuality was. If he had known he would’ve made his move months ago back when he first got into town. He wasn’t above admitting he’d had more than a few wet dreams involving the original Robin’s cock in his mouth.

Now Jason was getting an even better deal. He rubbed his dick in more butter and tossed what remained of the block onto the counter. He snickered, wondering if Alfred would think to use it on his toast the next morning. Jason liked Alfred, but he loved a good prank as much as any other guy, too.

Jason pumped into Dick, rolling forward confidently, keeping his speed steady as Dick pushed back against him, longing for more friction. Since Dick was holding himself up using the counter Jason was able to wrap his hand around him, catching Dick’s thick penis in his slippery fingers and squeezing as he moved his hand up and down the shaft.

Dick lost it, using his hands to push himself backwards onto Jason and then forward into his hand.

“Fuck Jason, _fuck_ , pound me, pound me _hard_ ,” he begged. Jason rolled his eyes upward, thanking God he wasn’t the only kinky bastard to come from this mansion.

After they’d both come, Jason washed his hands in the sink while Dick laid himself out on the granite counter, cooling himself down. His face was red from exertion and if there hadn’t been a third person in the house, Jason would’ve worked himself up again just so he could fuck those rosy lips.

He gently used a wet paper towel to wipe himself off and tuck his cock back in his pants before smacking Dick one last time on the ass, his way of coaxing him to get up.

Dick stretched out and rolled himself up, turning around and buttoning his pants. 

“So does it smell more like sex or like butter in here?” 

Jason laughed, throwing a couple popcorn pieces into his mouth and chewing. “Shouldn’t we get back to the Bat Brat? Probably finished destroying the minimalist art collection by now.”

“Shit, yeah,” Dick said, running a hand through his hair and shaking it out. “How did you become the responsible one.”

“Oh man, if only you knew,” he jeered. The two made their way back to the living room with no less than four bowls of popcorn, noticeably _unbuttered_ , when they entered a room that was noticeably _short_ one Damian Wayne.

They stood in the doorway and their eyes found the open window at the same time.

“Shit,” Dick said, slapping a hand to his face. Jason just grabbed another handful of popcorn and chomped down. 

Maybe if he helped find the brat he’d get another gratified Round Two. He simpered, thinking about how a grateful Dick might get him a grateful dick.

 

—————

 

Gotham was stupidly _not_ crime ridden tonight.

Damian hopped from rooftop to rooftop, nearly cursing everyone and everything around him for very much _not_ needing his services for tonight.

After all the trouble he’d taken—well, not that much trouble, thanks to a very dimwitted and sex-driven babysitter—to break out of his jail cell to take to the streets.

And everyone, it seemed, was perfectly content to not be getting thieved or murdered or maimed. He scowled down at a happy couple wandering aimlessly down a dark alley, not a criminal in sight. They practically deserved to get mugged, but instead, the two lovebirds made it through the entire way to their car unscathed.

Damian was almost annoyed at their luck.

After an hour of jumping around and having absolutely nothing to show for it, Damian decided to call it a night. He was convinced by now that there would be nothing interesting and at this point, pissing off the Batman wasn’t going to be worth it. If his bad luck held he’d end up off patrol duty for a month.

Besides, he consoled himself, by now Grayson should be out around the city scurrying for him, and if he made it back in time, maybe Bruce would get him to find Damian alone and untended to, which would entitle him to a lovely show of Bruce Wayne giving Dick Grayson a verbal lashing.

Grayson’s puppy dog eyes hardly worked on Wayne when he’d worked himself into a truly righteous tirade. 

He had just passed the shop that had really the most _abysmal_ pizza in the city when he stumbled across a scene that stopped him in his tracks.

A tall, fat man, belly protruding passed his ribs as though he were actually a pregnant woman, walked jerkily as he lifted a box from a dark moving van, almost like he had something to hide. He made his way stealthily—surprisingly stealthy, Damian noted with raised eyebrows, for someone of his size—into an arcade.

Damian smirked, teeth flashing in the night. He’d just caught a rat.

He flipped in the air once and caught a telephone pole one-handed. He descended and leapt into small crouch on the ground, jumping away from the light. When traffic was clear, he raced to the other side and dashed into the van.

He climbed over the boxes, hiding behind them and waiting for the man to come back. Meanwhile he peaked in the boxes, noticing they were carrying highly expensive electronic equipment. Stolen? he thought. Probably.

He lay in wait until the man returned, this time coming out with a partner. Damian dropped lower and focused his attention on their conversation. 

“—the hell the shipment is so late. I paid in full so we wouldn’t have an issue and lo and behold—an issue. Why do I even bother.”

“I don’t know Rick, maybe just don’t keep your expectations too high. High expectations and all that, get your hopes up and you’re always disappointed.”

“You know those community college philosophy classes are really making you unbearable.”

Damian rolled his eyes and readied his position. The men were close, almost there, right— _now_. Damian rocketed over the boxes and landed squarely on the paunch of the large man’s stomach, knocking him to the ground.

Before the other guy could even gape, Damian shot out his lasso and wrapped it around the unsuspecting man easily. It wrapped around his body tightly and with a short squeak he fell to the pavement, no longer a threat.

Damian turned his attention to the fat man and generously gave him his most menacing sneer. 

“Who’s supplying you with these? Are they hijacked? Tell me everything you know!” he bellowed, quite frighteningly and all the more so since he was merely ten years old. Sometimes Damian was impressed with himself. It was natural. 

“Wh-wh-what the—“ the man stuttered, clearly unused to being thrown to the ground by vigilante children.

“Speak, fattie, and I might spare you from the jailer tonight!”

The man paused with an expression on his face that was clearly affronted. “Oh, I'm sorry, does my fatness affect you? Does me being fat stop you from eating and enjoying life, kid? Does it stop you from battling crime because my large body simply exists? I mean seriously, name-calling isn't cool even for your age—“

“Tell me what you know!” Damian hollered again, impatient and vexed.

“Kid you want to see the receipt? They’re legit, legit! God just—just go inside and see for yourself, the receipt is in the office, I swear, just—just _get off my stomach I’m gonna hurl!_ ”

Damian dove to the side just in time for the man to spew his previous meal all over the sidewalk. One of the unknown affects of getting your stomach slammed into by two speeding feet, Damian supposed.

He left the two cowards on the ground and made his way to the front of the shop, staring at the neon lights dubiously.

He sincerely hoped the man was lying, he thought as he held out a hand to the door and crashed it open. Otherwise this was going to be the most boring night of his life.

 

—————

 

Tim was experiencing the most interesting night of his life. What had started with a mountain of homework had turned into the strangest situation he’d ever landed himself.

After he’d scaled the wall and observed the kitchen from a safe and hidden spot, he’d discovered the the cook in the back was an alien. He was a giant with purple skin, tentacles coming out of his head, and what looked like gills lining his shirtless back. His legs were squat and bowlegged, and there were three of them.

At least, he hoped that third one was a leg. Yeesh.

As he’d gotten closer to the steam, the smell was unlike anything he’d ever come across. It was revolting and Tim was glad he’d decided to wait before getting back to his brothers to dig into the pizza.

Tim used the technological binoculars in his mask to look more closely at the contents within the huge pots boiling with some kind of liquid and—

Tim’s mouth dropped in horror when the alien dropped a human arm into the pot, stirring it in and then dipping a spoon into the broth. He brought it to his lips and took a sip, nodding and muttering under his breath while Tim lurched to the side and tried not to hurl.

He was mostly successful.

He shook his head out and readjusted the binoculars, casting his eyes around the back, trying to figure out the layout before he ran headfirst into a murdering alien’s cooking fest. A flash of familiar deadlocked blonde hair came across his vision and Tim stopped, returning his gaze back to follow the movement.

On the ground the pizza girl gagged and struggled, having awoken from some kind of—probably violently induced—sleep. She writhed on the ground, her scream muffled by several cuts of duct tape over her mouth.

Now, Tim wasn’t really a fan of Pizza Girl, but this really wasn’t how managers should treat their employees.

He focused on the alien again, wondering just where he was from. Unlike Superman he didn’t look anything human-like, but he wasn’t the usual green like the Martians from mars were. How had he gotten the job then? Maybe like the Martians, he had the ability to glamor himself, or shape shift his form.

Tim got an answer almost immediately when he heard the bell ring at the front door. The alien stopped what he—she? xe? it?—was doing and began to vibrate at a speed the Flash might find acceptable. He whirred until the purple from his skin turned white and his height dropped to a few inches above five feet. He thinned out and his third leg rose into his body cavity.

Honestly, Tim wasn’t sure whether he was in awe, or seriously grossed out. Kind of like the first time he was forced to watch gay porn. His mind scoffed. _Forced_.

In the alien’s stead was a duplicate of Pizza Girl. Now Tim was impressed because he’s even gotten the mole on the back of her neck replicated. If only he'd remember to replicate her snark, then maybe he would've gotten away with all this.

The alien left the kitchen and went to the front, and Tim moved closer to try and case the back, to see what would be useful to him in taking down the alien and getting the real Pizza Girl away safely.

Lots of kitchen supplies, he noted, and that grater would definitely come in handy. Tim frowned at the dough roller, having tried to use that once and being surprised at how awkward it’d been to use. It just kept spinning when he wanted it to stay put. He’d end up giving the bank robber more of a quirky back rub than a beat down.

Tim shook his head out of his thoughts and then ducked when the back door swung open and the alien went back to his position at the stove.

Well, Tim was about as ready as he’d ever be to take down an unknown alien species and save the fate of a pizzeria employee with a terrible bedside manner.

He sat back on his haunches, thinking about the pizza that was by now cold and probably _moist_ , and waited for his move. He sincerely hoped Damian didn’t mind microwaved pizza.

 

—————

 

Damian’s escape was definitely his fault, but it was also very much Jason’s. Dick was just another victim of circumstance, really. Jason was the instigator, the—Dick huffed in annoyance as he bounced from rooftop to rooftop, sharp eye watching out for Batman’s youngest. He just couldn’t think of a good comparison without making him the sidekick to Jason’s mastermind. And letting a child escape from Wayne Manor while they’d been having dirty butter sex in the kitchen was probably less master-minded and more simple-minded.

He cursed Bruce for forcing him to babysit the little monster. It’s not like they had any kind of repertoire between them, not like Dick and Damian had some special brother-bond. In fact, Dick probably wouldn’t be surprised if the kid outright loathed him.

And hey, he liked Damian, he did. You know, in theory. He liked that he tried to like him, at least. But damn if that kid didn’t make it difficult to want to spend more than a minute around him. Kind of like Bruce actually, except Damian was smaller and more beat-up-able.

Dick tumbled to a soft landing on Gotham Bank’s rooftop when he saw Jason jerk to a halt at the edge.

Thank God, he’d spotted him.

“Fuckers!” 

Ah yes, definitely found him, Dick thought, then his mind paused warily. ‘Fucker _s_ ’? Multiple? Oh God, now what?

Dick was by Jason’s side in a moment, and he searched the ground fervently for a tiny black-haired ball of rage when he found…not that. Instead he looked down to see a small blond child handing cash to a dealer, while the dealer handed him some coke—not the drinkable kind.

“Dealing to kids in my territory, that is _not_ about to go down how they want it to,” Jason growled and before Dick could even protest, had jumped down into the alley to confront them.

Dick sighed and would’ve screamed into his hands had he had even a moment to spare. As it was, he jumped, following Jason into the alley and keeping right at his back. If Jason tried anything too violent, Dick would stop it.

Preferably with a spanking, he thought, and Dick grinned and blushed in tune, before mentally shaking himself out of it. Not the time, Grayson, not the time.

The drug dealer and child turned to the pair, the dealer drawing out her gun and pointing it at the Red Hood and Nightwing. Ballsy, Dick smirked, but didn’t let his appreciation for feistiness deter him from the situation.

But then Dick's and Jason’s well trained eyes took hold of the scene once more, and what had been mistaken for a child, was not in fact a child, but a Little person just wanting to have a good time.

He was not having a good time.

Jason grunted as the man shouted and ran for his life, and Dick wasn’t about to pursue the victim. Besides, Jason was clearly regretting coming down here at all now, probably blushing under his helmet for thinking of the Little man as a child. Dick tried very hard not to break his persona and crack up on the spot. It was just such a Jason-thing to do.

“Red Hood,” grinned the drug dealer, “Nightwing. So glad to have you drop by. Date night?”

Red Hood growled but Dick grinned, because she wasn’t entirely wrong. “You’re 500 yards near a school, clear out and never deal here again,” Red Hood grunted to her, extending his spine to make himself tower over her just a bit more threateningly.

She sighed. “Seriously? We live in a city. There’s like, a school on every block. You want your 40%? Let me deal where I choose at night. It’s not even daytime, mom.”

“I don’t give a rat’s ass about what time of day it is. 500 yards, from any school, or you’re toast, bitch.”

“Or you know,” Dick pitched in from behind, “just don’t deal. Because drugs are _bad_ and there are plenty of other jobs that’ll make you as much without the danger of getting caught by the police, or, you know, _us,”_ he shrugged, then had another thought. “You know Pet Food Express is hiring?”

She smiled, yet Dick wasn’t comforted by it. Although, he noted, for a coke dealer she sure did have some very nice teeth.

“That’s thoughtful, really, but maybe I can make my life easier by eliminating another object that’s preventing me from a good life.”

“What’s that?” Dick asked curiously, and Jason groaned beside him. Dick shoved his shoulder. He knew Jason didn’t like small talk, but there was no need to be rude.

Then the dealer fired her gun at Dick, and it kind of clicked. Pun intended, he thought as he tried to dodge. 

“You!” she bellowed. Dick swerved but still got hit straight in the arm. As the dealer ran off Dick followed after her, aiming to disarm and immobilize her before the police arrived.

Or at least, he tried to, and then fell flat on his face.

Wow, he thought, seeing stars above him. Stars that were really _bright_ and _beautiful_ and _wow he really should get a telescope because the planet was so big and huge and like, the universe was even bigger and filled with like,_ more _stars what would it be like to hold one—_

He vaguely heard Jason beside him a minute later, checking his pulse and flashing a light in his eye— _oh wow that light was bright it was like the sun which was part of the_ universe—and asking him questions like, “Dick are you fucking drunk?” and“What was in that tranq?” and “I swear to god if you don’t get your hand off my cock I’m going to fuck you in this alley just out of spite—“

Dick giggled and rolled onto his stomach, then he started laughing even harder when the giggles made his body rise and fall and _oh my god it was just so funny his laughing was making his body_ move _like the_ stars _in_ space—

The last thing he remembered was Jason throwing him over his shoulder, and then _maybe_ Dick used his hands to drum the solo of "Tom Sawyer" on Jason’s ass before everything went to black.

 

—————

 

Damian always preferred a strong entrance when it could be done, but this time bursting via bat-grappling hook and dismounting with his usual triple duck and twist didn’t have the desired effect he usually received.

In fact, after he landed perfectly dead center of the room on the ugly navy and rainbow speckled carpet, no one even looked up from their games.

Damian snapped the rope into its rightful place on his belt and decided to walk to the office, rather than run. His presence was unappreciated, and Damian didn’t care to perform if no one was worthy, or in this case, watching.

He found the receipts on the table and sure enough, everything was legit. Why the man had been looking so sketchy became obvious when he saw the empty bottle of Pepto-Bismol on the edge of the desk, cap off and resting beside the bottle.

From the look of it, the man had probably had all of the symptoms if the box containing pizza from the _abysmal_ place Damian had noted previously was anything to go by. That place was truly the worst.

Damian punched the wall in frustration and disappointment. This night really was the pits, he thought. Maybe it was still salvageable. Drake was bringing home the pizza, should have brought it by now anyway.

If there were green peppers on the pizza he would murder him. He was not in the mood for green peppers anymore. He mentally shrugged as he left the room. If Drake wasn’t smart enough to get at least one plain cheese pizza then there was no helping the guy. And god help him if he'd gone to the place Damian hated. The girl there had such an attitude.

As he was making his way across the room, he heard raucous cheers and more than a few thuds beating into the ground to an irregular pace. Curious, he hopped onto the machine opposite the noise and watched the small crowd from above.

It was a dance tournament of some kind. Two young men were stomping their feet on brightly colored arrows matching the screen before them, pounding their feet to the indicated directions before them.

Damian watched, intrigued. It looked stupid, he thought, but the kids around them were clearly entranced.

He’d thought pizza was stupid similarly, before he’d tried it. Maybe he could…try this.

He flipped from his position to the pin ball machine and glided into a double tuck before landing behind the crowd. This time, he smirked, he got the affect he deserved. Everyone had stopped watching the dance tournament and had turned to stare at him.

“I-It’s Robin!” shouted one, pointing to him. Damian stood a little straighter and made his way to the dance stage, ignoring the murmuring around him. He placed his hand on the railing and jumped over it easily, pushing one of the young men out of the way.

He paused when he ended up pushing the boy too hard and he crashed into a machine, knocking his head and falling to the ground, unconscious. Oops.

Damian pressed his feet onto the arrows below him tentatively. There was no effect.

“You uh,” said the boy next to him. “You gotta press harder.”

He slammed his foot on the ground and the square lit up while the screen in front of him flashed, “ _Terrific!”_

Yes, Damian thought, this was a good idea.

“Let’s duel,” he said to the boy beside him, who shrugged and put a couple coins in the slot when Damian made no move to do it himself.

The song began to play, something Grayson would listen to, a _Rihanna_ , and the boy beside him bobbed his head along with the beat. Arrows flew up the screen and the boy stomped on the arrows as they came up, matching them perfectly. His arms swung and Damian looked down at his own feet, and then back to the screen.

When the arrow indicating right hit the top and flashed a bright green, Damian slammed his right foot down.

Too late, it seemed, as the point system on his screen showed single digits. He looked at the screen beside his and tried not the gape. The boy was in the _three digits_ already. Not to be outdone, Damian began to slam his feet as fast as he could to the rhythm of the music.

He was trained by the most deadly assassins in the world, who were his _family_ , he was the current protege of the Batman, Gotham’s most revered vigilante hero. He regularly thrashed the previous Robins in sparring matches and had gone toe to toe with villains much larger and stronger than he was and damnit _he was Damian Wayne, heir to Wayne Enterprises, the Batcave, and the League of Assassins!_

And he was losing.

The song ended and he found himself strangely out of breath. The boy next to him was raising his eyebrows and pointing to the screen. 

“Wanna go again, Boy Wonder?”

Damian leapt into the air and slammed both feet down at the same time, causing nearly the whole place to shudder under his power. He clenched his fists, ground his teeth, and nodded his head.

The challenge had been accepted.

More quarters fell into the basin of the beast and Damian wiped the sweat off his brow, glaring daggers into the computerized game before him.

Before this night was over, he thought viciously, he would emerge from the Baby Boomer and Tots Arcade as victorious.

 

—————

 

After about an hour of sitting on his toes, feeling them go numb and into a sound sleep, Tim was just about ready to cause his own distraction by yelling bloody murder and charging the joint like a crazed Mongol.

But Tim was calculating, and he knew at some point this alien would have to go to the bathroom at least. Tim certainly did.

The alien took a sip of the broth and his voice sounded, deep and prattling on in some foreign language Tim had no knowledge of. The broth wasn’t entirely to his liking it seemed—maybe it just needed some more spice—and in a stroke of luck, he waddled out of the main kitchen, making his way to the large freezer to the back.

Tim took his chance. He rushed through the back, holding his breath as he ran passed the pots of human soup and running toward Pizza Girl. Her eyes widened and she squealed, clearly seeking help. Tim approached her cautiously, putting one finger to his mouth and motioning silence. She fervently nodded her head and Tim gingerly reached out a hand to her mouth, grabbing one end of the duct tape.

He raised his eyebrows to her and she nodded, tears streaming down her pink cheeks. In one swift motion, he ripped the tape off her mouth and she screamed in pain.

A clash sounded from the freezer and Tim nearly cursed. He slapped the tape back onto her mouth and jumped onto the highest shelf just in time. The alien tore out from the freezer, stalking out on his three legs—oh thank god they really were legs—and hunched over Pizza Girl.

Pizza Girl cried and moaned, still reeling from the pain of having the tape rip her skin. Tim winced. He probably should’ve rethought that, in retrospect.

The alien looked back and forth, clearly confused. He’d heard her scream but there she was, exactly as he left her. He scratched his knee and puckered his lips, looking much like a worried goldfish, when Tim made his move.

He jumped from the top of the shelf onto the shoulders of the alien and whipped his rope around his neck.

He wrapped it around and squeezed, doing everything he could to stifle the breath of the alien and render him unconscious. Unfortunately for the alien, Tim didn’t understand that alien anatomy is a bit different than human anatomy. The gills he’d seen on the alien’s back were in fact the way the alien was able to inhale oxygen and produce carbon dioxide in earth.

However, what Tim had thought was the alien’s neck was, as it turns out, his genitals. Tim came to this realization when he heard the alien scream from his stomach and his genitals collapsed, his head jerking back into the cavity of his body, or trying to at any rate if Tim's rope hadn't been in the way. After all, genitals squeezed with all of the strength of a super-trained young man is about as comfortable as it sounds.

But the desired affect was the same for Red Robin, and the alien fell to the ground, unconscious and out of the inconceivable pain from the moment previous.

Tim dropped gracefully to the floor and once again ripped the tape from the girl’s mouth, albeit this time a bit more gently.

“Th-thanks,” she whispered hoarsely. “I had no idea,” she said, nose sniffling as mucus trailed over her lips. “He-he was disguised or something. I came back here and he knocked me out, tied me up. When I woke up Angelo looked like—looked like—“

“That?” Tim finished as he undid her ties, and she nodded her head, wiping her nose on her forearm.

“I did wonder what happened to Erin when she suddenly quit a couple days ago.” She looked forebodingly into the steaming pot on the stove. “Poor Erin.”

Tim grimaced and pulled the girl to her feet.

“Well, you’d better get out of here. I’ll call the police, but who knows when this guy will wake up.”

She nodded again, stumbling over the body and bracing herself on the wall as she walked toward the exit.

Tim hit the button on the remote in his pocket, which instantly alerted the police to his location via specialized Bat GPS. He took out his rope and began wrapping and securing the alien body when he heard, “—Hey!”

Tim turned to Pizza Girl, and she hesitated, pointing to the front of the shop.

“There’s like, coupons and shit at the front. Take as many as you want,” she offered.

Tim nodded his thanks and held up a hand in parting as she ran out the door. Maybe Pizza Girl wasn’t so bad after all, he thought.

 

—————

 

Jason really should’ve figured by now that getting a piece of Dick was going to take more work than he’d bargained for. Shit, the guy was hot but no amount of hotness deserved this much work, he thought, hoisting Dick’s body from his left shoulder to his right.

Dick wasn’t a large guy by most standards, but having to carry any dead-weight grown man several miles across the tops of various buildings would take its toll on even the most well trained dudes.

Except Superman, that overcompensating asshole.

Jason dropped Dick to the ground, needing a short rest. He shoved Dick with his foot to remain hidden in the shadows. A drunk guy in the alley usually wasn't a big deal, but he didn't think Gotham was ready for a doped out Nightwing just yet.

He snapped a photo though, just for future's sake.

He’d given up hopping building tops at this point. Racing along the sidewalk was considerably easier and faster. It’s not like anyone was going to stop him or whatever. Honestly if they tried he would almost embrace it, he was spoiling for a fight.

Dick’s hand pushed against the ground as he struggled to sit up, having awoken from his tranquilized coma.

“—Athon?” he said groggily, “ith tha’ you?” Jason snickered at the lisp, hoping it would last for at least a day. He would really love to listen to Dick have to explain to Batman how he let Robin escape all while sounding like a tipsy toddler.

“Jathan whe’e a’e we?” He rubbed his head and Jason felt a spike of sympathy for him before it relinquished to the hilarity of the image of Dick swaying back and forth, trying to catch his balance. 

“I’m taking a minute since you weigh as much as a truck,” he said, and Dick reached out a hand to try and find Jason, since apparently even streetlights were too bright for his dilated eyes.

Dick just moaned and leaned back against the wall, clearly aching and unable to process through the haze of the drug he’d been shot up with. Really, they should just be grateful that drug dealer hadn’t loaded him up with bullets.

Jason sized Dick up, and wondered how inappropriate it’d be if he tried to make out with him right now. There was something hot about the way he was panting and shivering in the dark like that.

When a door flew open, echoing off the brick walls and traveling far enough to reach Jason’s trained ears, he almost ignored it. Hell, he’d been through enough this evening. If the brat was dead he was dead, boo-fuckin-hoo. Not like Bruce couldn’t just spawn up another demon Wayne for the freaky family tree.

But it was Dick who did him the favor of catching sight of what confidently strolled out the doors of the arcade across the street, literally the last place they would have looked for the most current Robin.

“‘Amian?” Dick said before immediately breaking out into uncontrollably hacking coughs. An awkward minute passed where Jason and Damian just watched Dick fall apart and be miserable. That’s really what their night had turned into.

“Yo, Bat Brat,” he said, not even bothering to shout. Sure, Damian could run off, but honestly, he gave zero fucks. Honestly, he was kind of hoping for it.

“Hood,” he said, almost respectfully, but mostly he just sounded like he was patronizing him with his own name. Asshole.

“You done terrorizing the city? Or you wanna do a second round?” he asked, shrugging his shoulder jerkily. He was tired and cranky, sue him. “You can either follow us back and play some video games, or explain to Batman himself why the hell you broke out in order to literally save no one and do nothing except—“ he gestured to the arcade, “—I don’t fucking know. Play ping pong or whatever. Shit.”

“Video games are acceptable,” Damian said, and Jason almost tore a muscle from the whiplash he got double checking the kid hadn’t been jerking his chain. Was the little nutcase actually being agreeable? “In fact, I would like to suggest a game. A D-D-R duel wouldn’t be unwelcome.” 

The kid gave a smile was absolutely heinous in the dread it gave Jason just looking at it. “Quite entertaining, in fact.”

“Sure, whatever.” Jason shrugged. The fight was gone from him, honestly. He just wanted a blowjob and a nap at this point.

“Is Grayson able to return to the manor? Or shall we abandon him?”

Jason sighed. “I’ll be carrying numb nuts home, let’s just go.”

“They _are_ numb,” Dick whined, and honest to God if Jason hadn’t already known what it felt like to have that guy’s mouth on his balls he really would’ve just left him there.

As the brat took off at a dead run toward the mansion, Jason lugged Dick back over his shoulder, turning his walk to a jog, to finally a pace that could be called a run.

Maybe the night wouldn’t be a complete bust, he thought, picking up his pace to at least match the Brat Wonder’s ahead of him. Maybe Bruce had a shitty night, too.

 

—————

 

It was the shittiest date Bruce had ever been on. The sexy new envoy that was supposed to have been a representative from one of Wayne Enterprise’s competitors in China had naturally turned out to be a deadly robot programmed to assassinate him.

Several injured patrons, four hours and a ruined suit later, and Bruce had finally managed to get the situation under control.

He was at least grateful for the fact that none of his own had been out to patrol that night, otherwise they definitely would have run into him and his embarrassing predicament. Honestly, it had been all over the news and half the town had been witness to the flying metal humanoid that had leveled the entire restaurant and attached hotel. Only a bunch of idiots could have missed it.

After giving a brief statement to the Commissioner, he’d been given a solemn nod and the all clear and was allowed to return to his home without receiving medical attention. He really needed to be more choosy about his dates than to have dinner with any woman his age who showed a little thigh.

But for a robot, he thought somewhat shamelessly, she did have really nice legs. 

He walked into the manor, hardly noticing Tim’s car parked outside, and headed straight up to the room he’d left Damian in, with Dick as his sitter.

When he entered the room, he found all four of his sons in the living room and a couple pizza boxes spread on the ground. Jason and Damian battled each other playing Halo, and plenty of grunting and button mashing accompanied the dramatic music and fake gun shots coming from the speakers. 

Dick was asleep on the couch and Tim had one whole box of cheese pizza with green peppers on his lap. He was eating as if in a trance, watching the screen as Damian seemed to be kicking Jason’s ass, if Damian’s shit-eating grin and Jason’s cursing were an indication.

He didn’t mind that his estranged son was on the living room floor, or that Dick had apparently needed not just one, but _two_ extra people to take care of one ten-year-old. Honestly, Bruce had had a long, shitty night, and it was just nice to see that one part of it went well.

He left without a word, heading to his room with a peaceful warmth in his heart, and a satisfaction that only a father knows after seeing his children behaving properly.

 

—————

 

“Do you think Father knows?” Damian asked. 

“Don’t know, don’t care,” Jason said.

“The first one to tell him gets their balls chopped off,” Tim said, surprisingly dark, as he lifted yet another slice of pizza to his mouth.

“Works for me,” Jason shrugged.

“Agreed,” Damian nodded. 

Behind them, Dick snored softly on the couch, dreaming about stars and of a sun that smelled like butter.

**Author's Note:**

> I really have no defense. Yell at me if you wish.


End file.
